He might live to see domed settlements on the surface; he might even be one of the settlers. Later, in the centuries to come, even the Islands would drop slowly toward the fertile soil below, and humanity’s arks would settle on the surface of a world rescued from sterility. Those who had labored on the Project would become the ancestors of people freed from Earth’s history. All of these thoughts were formless and vague in Chen’s mind, but the image of free people standing on a green, new world was sharp and clear.
Chen frowned. He would have to overcome his fear of the dark planet below before he could become a settler. He steadied himself, certain that he would find his courage when he needed it.
Fei-lin poked him in the ribs. “Look happier. Tonie’s probably waiting for you right now. Better become bondmates soon, before she flies away.”
“Tonie can fly my way any time,” Olaf said as he leaned across the aisle; his companion Catherine jabbed him with an elbow. On the screen, the lighted dome of Island Two swam toward them.
The airship had landed in its cradle, which drew it through the lock and then into the bay, where it sat among a row of cradled dirigibles. The workers scrambled down the ramp at the cradle’s side, making their way toward the entrance to the Island; Chen and Fei-lin were the last to enter. The door slid shut behind them as workers hurried off along white-tiled paths.
The two men were standing in a garden. Among the blossoming flowers and small green shrubs, slender trees stood with outstretched limbs capturing the light of the dome. A woman was leaning against one of the trees; she was tiny and slim and wore the gray shirt and pants of a worker.
Chen hurried toward her. She smiled with her delicate mouth, showing small, white teeth, and took his hand. Fei-lin was right; Chen would have to ask Tonie for a promise soon, but he had never found the words to ask her to share her life with him. He spoke of his love with his hands, cupping her breasts with his long fingers or caressing the silky skin of her thighs.
“Tonie,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back yet.”
“I’ve been back for almost a week. We’ll have two weeks together, maybe more. I asked if I could be assigned to your work crew next time, but you know the Committee.” She shrugged. She had meant the Workers’ Committee, which in its zeal to keep from offending any Administrators, often seemed more of an obstacle than an aid to the workers it was supposed to represent.
If he and Tonie became bondmates, the Administrators would do their best to keep them together. Formal bonds were encouraged here; the children of bondmates were the representatives of the future the Project was trying to build.
A tall, thin man was walking toward them, his face a replica of the wooden one inside Chen’s pocket. Fei-lin’s dark eyes narrowed; Tonie moved closer to Chen. Her fingers were cold as they brushed against his palm.
“Greetings, Ibrahim,” Chen said.
“Hello, Chen,” the man replied. He, like the other three, was also wearing a gray shirt and pants, but the cluster of silver circles on his collar showed that he was not a worker. Ibrahim was a Habber; though no jewel glittered on his forehead, he had his own Link. Habbers wore no outward signs of their status, a habit that made others uneasy; Habbers might not care about such distinctions, but Earthfolk did. Without a jewel on one’s forehead, a stranger might not even know that one was a Linker; it seemed an affront for a Habber not to have one. The Administrators on the Project had insisted on the pins of silver circles to mark Habbers as such.
“Uh, I think you already know Wu Fei-lin.” Chen gestured at his friend. “And Tonie Wong.” Fei-lin was biting his lip and looked ill at ease; the small woman plucked nervously at her short black hair.
“Indeed.” Ibrahim nodded to them; Tonie took a step back and stared at her feet.
“I finished it.” Chen took the carving out of his pocket; Ibrahim grasped it and held it up.
“Nice seeing you,” Fei-lin said abruptly; it seemed that his usual clever speech had deserted him. “Have to go.” He adjusted his duffel and hurried off, casting one fearful glance back at Chen before disappearing around a bend in the path.
“It’s quite lovely,” Ibrahim murmured as he gazed at the carving. “I’ll treasure it.” He tucked the carving into one of his large shirt pockets. “I must give you more for such a piece.”
“You paid me already,” Chen replied.
“Really, it wasn’t enough.”
“A meal, then,” Chen said. “You can buy us both something to eat.”
“I’m afraid I can’t join you,” Tonie said; her clear, musical voice sounded strained. Her eyes met Chen’s. “I promised Dorcas I’d meet her in the gym.” Her oddly intent gaze told him she was lying. “I’ll drop your bag off on the way, if you like.” She grabbed at his duffel, shouldered it awkwardly, then kissed him quickly before she strode away.
Ibrahim rubbed his chin. “I may be doing you no favor by dining with you in public.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Chen replied. “You’re paying me for some work, that’s all.”
“Things have changed since you left for the Bat. Your people have been avoiding us even more than usual.”
The two men walked along the path, leaving the garden and passing a low, glassy structure that housed a hydroponic food plant. The Islands produced much of their food, importing as little as possible from Earth.
Ibrahim seemed lost in musing, as Habbers often did. Chen thought of what the man had said. It wasn’t wise to be seen too often with Habbers; their help might be needed occasionally, but one did not have to associate with them socially. Chen knew all of that, but he had never been able to share the feelings of others about the Habbers. Ibrahim, like his fellows, was invariably courteous and kind in an abstracted way; the stronger human emotions did not seem to trouble him. Others might resent such serenity, but Chen welcomed it. Ibrahim did not even mind his lack of graceful and fluent speech, and often anticipated what he might say, thus relieving Chen of the necessity to say it.
The two men came to a small pool, around which tables and chairs had been placed. Five Linkers sat at one table; one of the women stared coldly at Ibrahim before turning back to her companions.
Chen touched the Habber’s arm, leading him away from the pool and along the path to another group of tables near a trellis of vines; Habbers never understood that it was not suitable for someone like Chen to sit in a spot frequented by Linkers. As they sat down, a servo rolled toward them; the squat robot stopped at their side, awaiting their order. Chen looked around, relieved that no one else was present.
“What would you like?” Ibrahim asked. “Some new imports arrived recently. We could have some pate, if you wish.”
“Anything’s fine.” Chen rarely spent his credit on imports, usually contenting himself with the workers’ simple but adequate rations, and had no idea of what to choose.
“Let’s try the lobster, then. Our substitutes really don’t taste the same. Really, the Project ought to set up a tank and breed its own. It wouldn’t be difficult.” His brown eyes widened a bit as he gave the order silently through his Link.
Sometimes Chen wondered why the Habbers were interested in the Project. He knew that they found it odd that people should terraform a world when one could be built inside an asteroid, or from scratch, with less trouble, but Earth’s reasons for the Project were involved and Chen had never troubled himself with them. He had his own dream, and the Habbers would help him and others realize that dream; he felt he owed them some consideration for that.
The Habbers had lent Earth their resources. They had brought in the hydrogen from Saturn, a fact Chen had not known before coming to the Islands. Habber robots had built the three vast installations on the Cytherian surface. Chen had seen images of those dark, looming pyramids, each so large that a million people might have been housed inside one. At some future time, the engines inside the pyramids would release their power, and Venus, which now turned from east to west only once every one hundred and twenty
days, would begin to rotate more rapidly; Chen already looked forward to that great event, and the surface settlements that would follow.
The people of the Habitats had made that possible, and they seemed to want nothing in return for their efforts except whatever new knowledge their techniques might yield. But it was hard to guess what motivated such people, who at times seemed almost like another species. Chen drew his brows together at that thought, recalling stories he had heard about the Habbers’ biological techniques. Some claimed that they had gone beyond the normal types of genetic engineering, which on Earth were limited to correcting flaws, and had even altered their own hormonal systems. Catherine, Chen’s fellow worker, had claimed that Habbers could no longer breed with other people in the usual way, although Chen was sure that wasn’t true.
Ibrahim made a steeple with his hands; his eyes gazed placidly past Chen. It was not necessary to distract the Habber with talk; he always had the company of his Link.
“I’ll have time to do a little more carving now,” Chen said, breaking the silence. “I can use the credit.”
“You’d do it whether or not you were paid,” Ibrahim said. “It’s a pity you can’t devote all of your time to it, maybe get some artistic training.”
Chen shrugged. “They don’t need carvers here. Can’t use art on the Islands.” It felt strange to call his hobby art, as Ibrahim did.
“Because beauty isn’t useful doesn’t mean that it’s not needed,” Ibrahim replied. “At any rate, I’m sure many more of your people would appreciate your work.”
“I thought some of your friends might.”
“That might not be wise.” Ibrahim leaned forward as the servo returned with plates holding chunks of lobster, a bowl of fruit, and a small bottle of wine. “You’ve been kind to me, Chen, but I don’t think you should seek out my company again, or that of other Habbers, unless we have to work together.” He speared a piece of lobster with his fork. “I wouldn’t want to endanger you.”
Chen frowned. He could tolerate disapproval, even a reprimand; what other danger could there be?
The corridors of the building in which Chen lived were filled with the hum of voices. The workers kept their doors propped open during much of the day. People were squatting or sitting on their heels in groups near the walls; a few children passed Chen on skates, weaving their way expertly past the men and women sharing beer or gossiping in the open doorways. The door frames bore pictures of their rooms’ occupants; some were holo portraits, while a few were carvings Chen had made for friends.
He greeted five men who were kneeling near one door as they gambled with small sticks and dice, then stopped in front of his own door, where his own carved face nestled next to Tonie’s. His was a broad face with full lips and a slightly receding chin above a muscular neck; Tonie had never liked the carving, insisting that Chen was handsomer.
He palmed the door open and entered; the door slid shut behind him. Tonie was wearing her band as she idled away a few moments in a game scenario; she took off the circlet and turned toward him.
“I hope you won’t see that Habbit any more,” she said.
“I won’t. Anyway, he doesn’t think we should.”
“Well, at least one of you’s showing some sense.”
He sat down on his bed, resenting her tone. Their room was small, though the two beds could be pushed into the wall to make more space. Drawers inside the walls held their few clothes and other possessions. On their one shelf, a small carving of Tonie was the only ornament; the figure was naked, one arm crossed modestly over the chest. He and Tonie had waited months to move from the quarters they had each shared with other workers to this room. He wondered how long they would have to wait before having children; the Islands could support only so many.
“It just isn’t smart,” Tonie continued as she took off her shirt. “Habbits give people funny ideas — that’s what Catherine says. I don’t know why they stay on, anyway. We could get along without them now.”
“They must still be needed.”
“I don’t know what for. They’re probably spying on us.”
“Anyway, Earth has an agreement. They can’t break it.”
“The Mukhtars shouldn’t have made one. Now, we’re stuck.” She opened a drawer, then shed her pants. Chen reached over and cupped her small buttocks in his hands. She dropped her clothes inside the drawer, then turned toward him, drawing his hands to her narrow hips.
He had to ask her. “I love you,” he said in a low voice, pulling her gently toward him. The words lodged in his throat. She might prefer to leave things as they were; she might not want to make a promise.
“I love you,” he said again, brushing his lips against her abdomen as he ran his hands over her smooth skin.
“I love you, Chen,” she whispered. “I love you enough to form a bond with you, I think.”
He looked up quickly, surprised. “I was — I was going to ask you.”
She was smiling; her dark eyes glowed. “Well, why didn’t you, then?” Her hand touched his cheek. “I had to say something — I’m really getting tired of waiting. Will you be my bondmate, Chen?”
“You’re sure?”
“Oh, Chen. Yes, I want to be your bondmate. I already feel as though I am. How long, then?”
“How long?”
“For how long do you want the bond? Ten years? Fifteen? Twenty might be best if we have children, and I know we both want them. What do you say?” She sat down next to him, circling his waist with her arms.
“As long as you want.” For a lifetime, he thought. I want you for as long as we live, I want to be with you when we’re old, I want to be at your side when our children become true Cytherians. The words were inside him; why couldn’t he say them?
“Always,” he said at last.
She loosened his shirt. Her hands were arousing him; he could feel himself growing stiff. “I’d make a lifetime promise,” she murmured, “but a Counselor might advise against it. They might say we’re too young for that, or that we’d change our minds later — a lifetime bond’s the hardest and most expensive to break, and it doesn’t look good on your record to make promises you can’t keep.” She was probably right, but her practicality dismayed him just a little. “Would twenty years do?”
“Yes.” He pushed her down gently against the bed and rubbed his thumbs lightly along her nipples. “Soon, before we have to go back to work.”
“Oh, I wish I had a silk shirt to wear when we pledge, or a gown, but then we’d have to wait, wouldn’t we? I know you’ll want Fei-lin to be your witness, and Dorcas can be mine. Do you want to make the pledge in one of the gardens?” She sounded as though she had already given the matter a lot of thought, and seemed as taken with the idea of a ceremony as with the pledge itself.
“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you want.”
“Of course.” She drew his face close to hers. “And after twenty years, we’ll form a new bond, I know we will. Oh, Chen.”
He rested his head on her shoulder, unable to speak of his happiness. His hands, speaking for him, lingered lovingly on the open cleft between her legs until there was no need for words.
His Counselor summoned him two days later. Chen strode quickly through the curved and empty corridor of the Counselor’s more peaceful building, suspecting that she wanted to discuss his pledge with him. He was sure he had nothing to fear from the encounter; at worst, the Counselor might ask them to shorten the duration of the bond and renew the pledge in a few years.
He knew that something was wrong as soon as he entered the Counselor’s room. Corazon Delgado was frowning, and a Linker Chen had not seen before was with her.
“Please sit down,” she said, gesturing at one of the chairs; Corazon’s room was somewhat larger than a worker’s quarters. “Liang Chen, this is Ari Isaacson. He just returned from Earth about a month and a half ago, and he’s the new head of the Counselor’s Committee here.”
The stocky Linker nodded at Chen. Ari
Isaacson sat with folded legs, as if he were not used to sitting in chairs. Chen seated himself across from the Linker.
“Ari worked with the Project for almost three decades as a physician,” Corazon went on, “but it appears that the Nomarchies would now like to make use of his talents in counseling.” Her tone was sharp.
Chen looked into the man’s gray eyes, wondering what Ari Isaacson could want with him. He was not even sure of how to address the man. When meeting a Linker for the first time, it was polite to use a title, while Counselors, like almost everyone else, insisted on first names. “Greetings, Linker Ari,” Chen said, compromising. Even Corazon seemed intimidated by the Linker’s presence; she sat stiffly upright in her chair, but her fingers fluttered nervously.
“I was going to speak to you next week,” Ari said in a smooth voice, “but events have made it necessary for me to tell you this immediately, and my time is going to be taken up with many more of these little meetings. You see, we’re going to prune the work force here a bit. We have people waiting to have children, and that’s quite important now, since the time for planning our surface settlements is not far off. We must think of the future. Then, of course, there are the graduates of the Cytherian Institute to consider — of course, many of them will be assigned to Anwara, at least at first, but we need places for them here. Now, there’s always attrition — those who can’t adjust and want to leave, those who don’t do their work well, those lost in unfortunate accidents or who are called to God at the end of their long lives, but we are now compelled to dismiss more people from the Islands.”
Chen was very still. He was irritated at the Linker for explaining such obvious matters to him, and also frightened at the man’s calm tone.
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